


Room Temperature

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's simple: Hardison controls the thermostat, and wants to make Eliot a little miserable.  Then Eliot's shirt comes off, and suddenly it's not so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Temperature

**Author's Note:**

> For kink_bingo: "temperature play."

It started with an insult to _Star Wars_. It had been the kind of thing Alec simply could not abide: a defamation of Chewie's character. Granted, Eliot had thought Chewie was Riker, but that wasn't the point. One did not disrespect the Wookie and get away with it.

They'd traded insults for a while, from _Doctor Who_ to how many ways stupid lugs could kill a man, until finally Eliot had thrown his hands up and declared what a waste of time arguing was.

Actually, his exact words had been: _"Damn it, Hardison, it's too hot to argue about your stupid TV show!"_

And _actually,_ it was a _movie, Eliot,_ only one of the greatest trilogies of _all time, thank you,_ and it had given Alec an idea. The fight, not the movie.

So now Alec is watching Eliot watch the game. It's a practice game, so Nate isn't here. Eliot is sitting alone, having commandeered the television sets and moved the couch to better accommodate himself. He's leaning back, sipping a beer, probably studying how best to disable a guy in a football helmet.

He's also picking at his shirt, and fidgeting every few minutes. That's because Alec is sitting at the bar behind him, with Nate's thermostat application open on his desktop.

Seriously, rewiring Nate's apartment was the greatest thing Alec has ever done, and he wishes the rest of the crew acknowledged that once in a while. He can ensure everyone's comfort _from_ the comfort of wherever the Internet connection is.

Likewise, he can ensure everyone's _discomfort._

Alec stifles a snicker and turns the heat up another couple of degrees. Then he waits, ostensibly running a sweep on the firewalls he has set up around Nate's. He pretends he's still checking and double-checking, but really, he finished that in minutes over an hour ago.

"Man, it's hot in here," Eliot complains. "Are you hot?"

"You know it, baby," Alec replies absently.

Eliot isn't amused. "Seriously, man."

"Okay, okay." He pretends to check the thermostat. "Naw, man. It's room temperature in here. It's just you. Weren't you working out before?"

"Long time ago," Eliot mutters, turning back around.

Alec cranks the heat up again. It's going to start bothering him soon, too, but he's had practice in Lucille. Also, he _knows_ it's getting hotter; he's mentally prepared.

Revenge? Is sweet.

It's another ten minutes before Eliot leaps to his feet and stomps toward the fridge. "When's Nate coming home?" he asks, obviously pretending the rising heat doesn't bother him.

"Dunno," Alec replies, minimizing the thermostat program. "Said something about going on a lunch not-date with Sophie. A 'colleague/friend' thing, whatever."

Eliot flops back onto the couch and twists the cap off his beer. "Hmph," he mumbles, still picking at his red shirt.

Alec brings the thermostat back up and tweaks the temperature again.

Another few minutes, and Eliot apparently can't take it anymore. He sits up and pulls his shirt off.

Alec's plan had seemed foolproof up to this point. Now he's not so sure; Eliot may be a little on the short side, but his back ripples with cut muscle and Alec can't take his eyes off it.

"It's hot in here, man, it can't be just me." Eliot lies back down, gloriously topless. Alec leans over a little, trying to see where his hipbones dip into his jeans.

Lust unfurls in his groin and makes his gut twist up. "Uh, it's just you," he stammers, typing away. "I'm fine. Thermostat's fine."

Eliot mutters something unsavory and turns his attention back to the game. Christ, look at him. Alec has to swallow the urge to climb over the back of the couch and lick the sweat from his skin.

He turns the heat up some more. It'll be sweltering soon, halfway to a Finnish sauna, but Alec's addicted now. How hot does it have to be before Eliot takes off his pants?

Maybe some camaraderie would help. "Now that you mention it," Alec muses, shrugging out of his t-shirt, "it is getting warm in here."

Eliot leans up on his elbows to look at him. "I told you. Something's wrong with the thermostat."

Alec has to tear his eyes away. "I'll look at it," he says, and pretends to do just that.  
Eliot sits up and squirms. The warmth in the apartment is almost tangible now. Alec licks his lips, watching Eliot fidget. If they were on a job, and Eliot was miserable like this, he would suffer through it. He would take it in stride and do what needed to be done. But now he's on his own time, and Alec is the one with the power to crack the hitter's resolve.

The game is almost forgotten. Alec leaves the heat where it is and slides off the stool. He comes up behind Eliot, one hand hovering over the back of his neck. Eliot knows he's there, of course, but the fact that he hasn't turned around or even said anything has the wheels turning in Alec's head.

"Eliot," he ventures, hand resting on the other man's warm skin. He's tense. Why? Unless….

"What?" Eliot demands, rough and curt. But he doesn't shake Alec off.

"The thermostat's wonky and I can't get it to listen."

Eliot looks up at him then, craning his neck to catch Alec's eyes with his own. "The hell you can't," he says, calling Alec's bluff.

Alec goes with his gut. Worst case scenario: Eliot breaks his wrist. He curls his hand around Eliot's neck, cups his chin, and keeps him there. He goes in for the kiss before he can be elated that Eliot went with it.

Eliot tastes like beer and lazy Sundays. His stubble scratches Alec's lips and the angle is awkward but it's good, it's so good. Eliot certainly thinks so. He grabs Alec's arms and hauls him bodily over the back of the couch. It takes some maneuvering, but Alec rearranges himself atop Eliot's sweaty chest and kisses him again — two, three times before moving down to suck salt from a nipple.

"Damn it, Hardison," Eliot groans, but it's different now. It's gentle, needy, complements the way Eliot's fingers are trying to find purchase in his hair.

"I'm supposed to be mad at your ass right now," Alec grumbles, licking up Eliot's throat. "Why you gotta be so damn hot?"

Eliot gives him a rare, real smile. "Ain't so bad yourself, son." Then he moves his hips, rolling them into Alec's, and both of them groan.

Their jeans are so confining, but the denim friction is so fucking _perfect_ and they can't seem to bring themselves to stop grinding long enough to take off their pants. Alec sucks a welt into Eliot's neck and Eliot squeezes Alec's ass and pulls them together harder, _harder._

When they come, they collapse into a sweaty, sticky mess. For a minute or so, they don't even bother trying to get up. But it isn't long before the heat stops being sexy and starts getting annoying.

"Fix it," Eliot grunts, shoving at Alec's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Alec chuckles, and rolls to his feet. He pulls at his soiled jeans and wonders if he can convince Eliot to change his home's thermostat, too.


End file.
